


I would never dare

by princessstarmageddon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Letters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 12:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19334422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessstarmageddon/pseuds/princessstarmageddon
Summary: Love Letter post-Armageddon inspired by Michael Sheen's thoughts on Aziraphale's approach to Crowley: "I could never get away with that. I would never dare."





	I would never dare

Folded away in, of all things, a copy of Hamlet:

I always thought, “I could never get away with that. I would never dare.” But I dared. I dared to love when you never dared to be loved.

While I guarded the Eastern Gate, I watched you dare to ask why the Tree of Knowledge was off limits. I helped them where I could, but I hid my actions for millennia.

I sat by while God smote the people I was tasked to love and protect. When God changed her mind and sent a son to the people, I stood by while he died, but you showed him the world.

You were always the first with suggestions. While I was outwardly put out by your interference, I was always secretly pleased to encounter you because you would suggest all the options I had never dared to think. Going to lunch instead of working cross-purposes. Trading off duties. Simplifying. Leaving time for me to love this Earth and the humans here.

I remember when you first showed me the Bentley. And when you took on the care of those lovely plants. When you started to cultivate beautiful things. You always took chances with the next best thing, while I found what I loved and stuck to it. I stuck with you, but I knew what it meant to be worthwhile when you kept coming back to me. I would never dare to think I was the next best thing, but you kept coming back.

You started to forget yourself. To dare to love instead of scorn. I hadn’t quite noticed until the whole Antichrist mess. You dared to challenge celestial and infernal expectations. You dared to work with me to save the Earth you loved.

And then.

And then you dared to take care of me. To hope for me. To search for me. To mourn me. Even while I clung to my rules and my “celestial purpose.” You unknowingly fell from grace (or rose from damnation, I suppose) and chose to love me. Even if you didn’t know it, you dared what I never thought I could get away with.

You always dared. After Armaggedon (maybe we should’ve renamed it - it did happen on the fields of Tadfield, not Megiddo, after all) and the resultant attempts at punishment, you dared to define us as something against. 

But then I dared. I dared to make excuses about the bookstore and take you up on your offer of a palce to stay. I dared to praise your plants. I dared to watch you watch me eat. I dared to reach out. I dared to brush my hand against yours. I dared to brush away imaginary dust from your clothes. I dared to let you drive me somewhere and nowhere and watch you to keep me from seeing the road. I dared to fall for you.

I dared to get away with it. With you. I changed “I would never” to “I will always.” My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. 

_________

He could hear Aziraphale come in from his afternoon attempt to greet all of the sheep individually (really, the sheep). Covered by the sound of the kettle and biscuit tin, Crowley slipped the letter back into its place at the back of the only of the Bard’s tragedies worth reading and quietly stalked over to the conservatory (he had insisted his plants didn’t need a whole room to themselves - really, if they knew what was good for them, they’d find a way to photosynthesize without light, but he had given way when Aziraphale had said it was the only way he wouldn’t feel guilty about a whole room dedicated to his books).

Aziraphale must’ve imagined the faint tender whispering he heard from the conservatory and the water in Crowley’s eyes as he carefully folded away his sunglasses and practically slithered into his chair. Once the tea was at his lips, Crowley’s eyes were just as clear and piercing as normal while he intently watched Aziraphale eat his biscuit and describe the most recent wanderings of the sheep. But something about that glare was a little warmer, and tea was just a little hurried that afternoon.


End file.
